Some Time Spent In Formal Wear
by sienna27
Summary: Some'verse - Story 1 of 3: Hotch escorts Emily to her least favorite's cousin's, wedding. Technically this could be read as a stand alone, but it's actually a prequel to "Some Overdue Sowing of Wild Irish Oats." Two shot, maybe three. ** 04/02/16 - STORY ON HIATUS, CM MUSE ON THE FRITZ **
1. Little Flutters

**Author's Note**: You can read this without knowing anything about anything I've ever posted before, BUT, if you read, "Some Overdue Sowing of the Wild Irish Oats" this is actually a prequel to that fic. In that story, Hotch makes passing reference to taking Emily to a wedding the month before. This is that wedding. So yes, now we have a new universe! Not planned, and I don't know if it'll get bigger than these two stories, but if it does, I think I'll stick with this "Some..." title as the connector. Like "Finding..." but not :)

As to placement in time, basically assume terrible things from season 5 on, never happened, Haley is still alive and the team structure what it was back then. So say this is an AU, season 6.

And as I mentioned on last posting elsewhere, CM Profiler's Choice Awards are running now and I have a couple nominations. If anyone would like to vote for me for my categories, here are the specifics. Ballot closes on like February 16th, I think. Thank you!

_This link (no spaces) www . fanfiction forum / Profilers – Choice – Awards – 2014 / 162134 /_

_-Best Overall Author__  
__-Best Het Romance: The Courtship of Clark and Lois__  
__-Most Beloved Fic: Falling in Love with A Girl_

* * *

**Little Flutters**

Emily dropped her hairdryer down onto the vanity, with a clatter.

_Crap, crap, crap!_

Her eyes shot over to the clock on the bathroom wall . . . she was running SO late! Hotch was going to be there any minute. And sure enough, she'd just reached over to pick up her eyeliner, when the universe decided to conspire to make her even LATER than she already was!

Her phone started to ring in the other room.

And though she wanted to let it just go to voicemail, given the nature of her work . . . the whole 'chasing serial killers' thing . . . as a rule, you couldn't just ignore the phone so you could finish painting your face pretty colors.

That was kind of tacky.

So with a faint groan and rolling of her eyes, wearing just her black silk underwear, she ran out of the bathroom to snatch her phone up off the bed. And of course just as she picked it up . . . she rolled her eyes again . . . it stopped ringing.

"Awesome day, God! She yelled with a point up to the sky.

But then her gaze snapped back down to the phone and she saw a very cute face sitting there on the screen saying, 'missed call.'

Hotch!

Oh . . . she quickly hit the callback button . . . crap!

He picked up immediately.

"Hello."

"Hey," she sighed, while hurrying back into the bathroom, "are you running late?"

"No," Hotch slowly shook his head, knowing from the flustered tone that had just come through the line that Emily was nowhere near ready to go, "no, _I'm_ not running late. I'm standing outside your door, and given the fact that _you_ are not answering it, I'm assuming that _you_ are running late."

_The wedding starts at five_, she'd said. _I'll be ready at two-fifty on the dot_, she'd said. _I promise . . ._ she'd said. He gave an affectionate eye roll.

It was his own fault for believing her.

"Oh shit!" She stopped short, "I'm sorry, I was drying my hair. I guess I didn't hear it. Do you have your emergency key? I'm just going to be like five more minutes."

Okay, probably more like seven. But no more than ten!

"Yep," Hotch started digging in his pocket for his key, "I've got it. I was going to use it actually but I didn't want to scare the crap out of you if you came downstairs to find me in the living room."

Emily chuckled as she walked back over to the sink.

"Thanks for that, because I probably would have pulled my gun on you. So," she pulled the cell away from her head and clicked the speakerphone, "did you get a chance to take a look at the directions yet?" She asked while projecting her voice and starting in with the eyeliner pencil again, "it shouldn't be more than an hour I don't think."

Hotch pushed the door open and slid the key back out of the lock.

"Yeah, maybe an hour twenty," he answered, "depending on traffic," he walked through and closed the door, "but if you're going to be a couple more minutes I'll look up the directions one more time."

"Yeah," Emily puffed out a raspberry as she dropped the eyeliner and picked up her silvery shadow, "I'm definitely going to be a couple more minutes. I twisted my ankle running this morning, so when I got home I had to put it up and ice it and I took too much Motrin and," she simultaneously sighed while she began making up her eyelids, "blah blah, I ended up falling asleep, woke up, freaked out, and long story short, I just got out of the shower like six minutes ago."

Feeling his brow wrinkling with concern, Hotch paused in the middle of her hallway.

"Is your ankle still bothering you?" He asked into the phone as his gaze shifted up the staircase, "Should we stay in?"

Given how much Emily was DREADING this wedding of an extremely wealthy long ago ex-boyfriend to, ironically, her most hated cousin . . . as she'd assessed the whole event, "AWKWARD!" . . . he had to wonder if perhaps the ankle injury might have been her subconscious trying to figure out a legitimate, 'out' for her attendance that evening.

She'd been praying for a case to come up.

"No," Emily pouted down at the phone, though Hotch couldn't actually see her, "unfortunately it's okay now. Just a little achy and a tiny bruise around my ankle bone. Besides," she put down the shadow and moved on to her blush, "short of actually losing a limb completely, I can't miss this damn wedding. I'll never hear the end of it."

Not only would mega bitch cousin Caroline, be making snide remarks about it for the next twenty Prentiss Family Christmas Parties, but her mother would be all over her too. The Ambassador was quite 'vested' in her attendance at this union. She hated her sister-in-law (dad's brother's wife) as much as Emily hated the woman's daughter, and there apparently had been some comments made about Emily not really "fitting in" to Darren's world (Darren being the groom) the way that Caroline did, so no wonder things didn't work out between him and Emily.

Essentially it was a 'breeding' shot at their branch of the family. That Caroline was the purebred Palomino and Emily was the raggedy inbred . . . mule.

The Ambassador had hit the roof.

Truly, she'd ranted at Emily about "that botoxed woman," and her "buck toothed daughter," for an hour and a half over a Sunday afternoon high tea last fall at the Park Hyatt. By the end of the 'discussion' Emily had drank two pots of fifty-seven dollar organic Chinese snowflake tea (yeah, that was the actual price per pot, thank God her mother was paying) and had stress eaten three scones, six butter cookies, one gluten free baby cupcake, and nine chocolate petit fours.

When she'd finally gotten home, she ate another half roll of cookie dough. Then she'd called Hotch, and whined on the phone to him for twenty minutes about how her family was ruining her life. Finally he'd cut her off with an exasperated sigh and a promise that he'd be over in twenty minutes with a deep dish pizza, and to go put on her pajamas.

They could watch The Exorcist until she fell asleep.

Yeah, he knew that was her favorite de-stress movie, and yeah . . . her eyes crinkled slightly as she thought back to that night six months ago when she'd opened the door to find him with the pizza, an eye roll and half a dimple . . . he was the best 'platonic boyfriend' a girl could have. Someday, hopefully someday SOON, if she could ever get her shit courage together and just jump the man's bones already(!), she could remove the modifier 'platonic,' and then he'd just be the best boyfriend, period.

Though again, he kind of already was.

Case in point, it was a Sunday night and he had agreed to put on a tuxedo, drive halfway across the state, and spend like seven hours schmoozing with her INSANE family at this insane, over the top, two MILLION dollar wedding that they were attending that evening. Fortunately it was President's Day weekend so they were off tomorrow, but still, it was going to be one LONG ass night!

It was just then she'd realized she'd kind of spaced out _thinking_ about Hotch, and not actually _listening_ to Hotch. His voice was still coming to her through the phone, and he'd just asked if quote, "that would be okay?" but she had NO idea what the first part of the sentence was, to which he was asking her permission.

Nice Emily . . . she rolled her eyes . . . real nice.

And not wanting him to know that she had totally zoned out on him when he was doing her this amazingly huge favor, she just said, "uh yeah, sure, okay with me," rather than saying, "uh yeah, sorry, what the hell are you talking about?" Because given that it _was_ Hotch, it was unlikely that he was asking if he could clean out her bank accounts, or sell her into the white slave trade.

So, "okay with me," seemed like a safe answer to pretty much any request he might have made.

And then sure enough, when he came back with a, "great, then I'll just go grab my ready bag now so I don't have to drag it up later when I'm tired," she thanked GOD, that she'd just said yes to his question! Because apparently he was asking if he could just sleep over her place rather than having to drive all the way back to his own when they got back at like two in the morning.

A plan which was ABSOLUTELY A-freaking okay with her!

Because now she was thinking that this might actually end up being a good night to try and pin him to the bed. But she pushed that thought aside for the moment, to simply say, "k, I'm just fixing my hair and then I'll jump into my dress."

And with that Hotch said he'd be back in five minutes, and she heard the phone click. So with him off doing his own errand, she twisted her hair up in quick chignon, using some of her fancy, sparkly hair combs to keep it all in place. Then while shielding her eyes with her dog-eared, water stained, bathtub copy of Glamour, she did a hairspray spritz, before popping in a few final bobby pins to keep everything all tidy. Then her last piece of bathroom prep was to paint on a pretty Chinese Apple Red, smile.

There . . . her eyes crinkled slightly at her reflection . . . perfect.

And after another quick glance at the clock . . . coming up on three pm, ten minutes after she'd wanted to leave, damn it . . . she ran back out to the bedroom with lipstick and travel compact in hand. She tossed those on top of the dresser before she pulled her 'fancy dress holster' aka the thigh high one, out from her lingerie drawer.

Was it weird that she kept her spare holsters in with her delicates? Perhaps some people might think so. But given that she considered it a basic 'undergarment,' as she strapped it onto her leg, she figured those other people could just go to hell.

And once the holster was on, and snug, she unlocked her bedside safe and pulled out her backup piece.

The Glock 23.

Her pretty, poor, neglected baby, that only got to leave the house for off duty events. And after checking the safety, and the clip (good and good), she tucked it down into the little leather holder now strapped to her thigh.

Again, perfect.

So she moved on to accessorizing her OTHER thigh with the lacy black garter she'd left out on the bed. Yes, again, perhaps it was a little odd that she was wearing sexy lingerie when she had no current sexual partner to speak of. But for the last eleven months, every planned private outing with Hotch, she made sure that all of her under garments were super fun and sexy, JUST IN CASE the man FINALLY volunteered to fill the 'sexual partner' role, that she'd been holding open for him for like a year and a half now. Admittedly the celibacy was starting to chafe a tiny bit, but . . . she rolled her eyes . . . as long as she didn't watch too many Ryan Gosling movies, she was doing okay.

But whatever, she tried to push Gosling's face (and Hotch's) out of her mind while walking over to the bed. There she picked up the new dress she'd picked out for the wedding. It was a blue strapless ball gown with a filmy, layered chiffon skirt and sparkly sweetheart, bodice.

The thing was, in a word, GORGEOUS!

It had also blown out her limit on the Nordstrom's card, but as she started shimmying into it, she remembered that was the price she had to pay for looking hotter than her shallow, nose-jobbed, ear tucked, lipo-butted, Mean Girl cousin, at her own wedding. And really that was the entire purpose of the dress.

Revenge.

She and Caroline had gone to the same high school together junior year, the year Emily had gone through her punk phase, and the girl had been a NIGHTMARE to her! So this was just a reminder to all of the villagers (guests) throughout the land (at the wedding), who was really the fairest of them all.

Her!

Okay . . . she rolled her eyes slightly as she popped her boobs into the built in bra . . . maybe she wasn't actually the fairest in ALL the land. There were admittedly many, MANY women in the world (and probably the greater Metro area) who were way hotter than her, but when it came down to just fairest _Prentisses_ in all the land, if she removed her cousin Gregory from the list, he who looked like a buffer version of George Clooney in his ER days, then she totally kicked all other Prentiss asses!

And she was twisting around, trying to get her zipper pulled up, when she heard Hotch yelling from downstairs.

"I'm back! Just coming up to drop my bag off!"

"K," she yelled, while wincing slightly when her finger pinched in the zipper track, "and I just need to do shoes and jewelry!

Or . . . she started to frown . . . she thought she just needed to get her shoes and jewelry, (deodorant and perfume had been done immediately post shower) but now she'd just realized she had a little problem.

Her zipper was stuck.

And for a second she had a panic attack thinking that she should have been cutting out the pizza and Ho Hos the last three weeks, because DEAR GOD, she did not have a backup dress! But then she ran her new fake fingernail along the zipper track, and realized it wasn't that the metal teeth weren't meeting, it was just that the material was caught somehow.

But fortunately . . . especially fortunate for a single gal who lived alone . . . for a change, she did actually have a zipper fixer on site. So with one hand on the sweetheart dip of the bodice to keep the girls from popping out, she started shuffling her way towards the open door.

"Hey Aaron," she called out, hearing his footsteps coming up the stairs, "before you do that, can you please help me with my zipper?"

"Yep," she heard him walking closer, "coming."

Just as she reached the doorway to look out, he appeared in front of her. And God DAMN did he look good in his tux! Like Hotch pretty much _always_ looked good, but this was a new level of 'Prince Charming in his best Armani, at the ball,' good! But then she saw how his eyes had widened when he looked down at her. He shook his head.

"You look amazing, Emily." Then his gaze shifted down to take in the length of the dress, before he looked back up at her with a little dimple, "Caroline is going to hate your guts."

Which he knew was, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT, the point of this dress that she'd told him she'd blown half a week's salary on. But still, God did she look beautiful. So much so that he couldn't even believe that he actually got to be her date that night!

Lucky, lucky bastard, was he!

Feeling a faint flush touch her cheeks, Emily gave Hotch a shy smile.

"You do say the sweetest things, Aaron."

Hotch chuckled as he dropped his bag on the floor.

"Okay," he twirled his finger, "let me see the zipper."

After she'd turned, he placed his hand on her shoulder as his gaze took in the smooth expanse of creamy skin on her back. She'd only been able to get the zipper a little above her waist, so it was quite obvious that she had no bra on either.

He bit down a groan.

Torture.

But as he stooped down slightly to get the piece of blue material unstuck from the shiny metal teeth, fortunately, she didn't know that. And he'd still choose, a thousand times out of a thousand, to be the one getting this view, than knowing she had some loser boyfriend out there helping her get dressed for these events. Because that was the key "hobby" he had going in his life right now.

Making sure all other men stayed far away from his woman.

Even if she didn't yet _know _that she was his woman. Yeah . . . he started running the zipper back up the track . . . it was complicated.

"Thanks again for coming with me tonight," Emily said softly over her shoulder.

"Not a problem," he patted her back, "and you're all set here. And if nothing else," he shrugged while stepping back and dropping down onto the mattress, "the food should be good, right?"

Considering this was a Metro DC 'crème de la crème' invitation list, (basically on his own, he as an attorney, decorated FBI agent, and chief of his division would be considered a no invite, 'plebian') they most likely had a name chef preparing tonight's meals. And sure enough, in response to his question, he saw Emily nod while stepping forward to pick up one of the dangly diamond earrings he could see she'd laid out on the vanity.

"Oh yeah," she slipped the first earring into her ear, "considering the budget for tonight's wedding was, at the last family gossip posting, 1.75_ million _dollars, the food should be ah-mazing."

For a second Hotch just looked up at Emily from his spot sitting on the end of bed. Then he tipped his head.

"You're exaggerating that number, right?"

"Oh no," she turned to him shaking her head, with the other earring still in her hand, "not even by a penny. That's from Mother, who got it from Dad, who got it from Uncle Charles. And Uncle _Charles_," she gave Hotch a pointed look, "you know he is the one that actually is paying these vendor bills. Of course Aunt Margaret," she rolled her eyes as she started sliding the other earring through the hole, "is the one authorizing all these costs, but he's the one actually writing the checks."

The woman had wasted like the GDP of a small nation, on what was essentially . . . a party.

"That," Hotch shook his head in disbelief, "is insane. I think Haley and I spent maybe five thousand dollars on our wedding, which included the cost of her dress, and both of our wedding bands, and I _still_ thought that was ridiculous."

"Ah," Emily called over her shoulder while digging into her jewelry box to get her rings, "and that was what? Like late eighties money? So by inflation standards you probably spent . . ." her brow wrinkled as she slipped on her rings, "well, that's probably twice that today, right?"

"Yeah," he made a face, "you're right, probably close to ten grand. God, that's disgusting." Then, seeing Emily had picked up her necklace and was now fumbling with the clasp . . . she'd gotten a manicure the day before, and he knew she couldn't work the new, fake, French Manicured nails she was wearing . . . he pushed himself off the bed.

"Here," he put his hand out, "let me do it."

"K," she gave him a little smile, "thanks. It's my mother's I borrowed it for tonight and it's super expensive so the clasp is kind of complicated." She made a face, "you know, we have to do it right so I don't accidentally drop ten thousand dollars worth of diamonds down into the snow."

Her mother had insisted she borrow her diamond necklace so she'd have on 'good' jewelry, but just having the damn thing in the house made her nervous. Not like she was going to break it if she dropped it, but she did have a tendency to lose shit. And all she needed to do was drop the stupid thing in the parking lot, and she would NEVER hear the end of it!

"Ten thousand, huh," Hotch held the diamonds up to the light, "well, it is very pretty. And I guess I'm on guard duty tonight, because if you lose this thing then your mother is never going to let _me_ hear the end of it."

Emily chuckled.

"You know that's true. Of the two of us, you are the more responsible, so she probably would blame you. So," she pointed to the clasp, "just make sure you get the safety clasp too."

Her mother had actually been quite pleased to hear Hotch was her escort tonight. Quote, "oh good, he's much better looking than Darren."

"Yeah, yeah," he stepped up behind her, "trust me, it's not coming off." And as he leaned over and slipped the necklace around her neck, he asked softly, "so how much do you think is an appropriate amount to spend on a wedding?"

Feeling her breath quicken at how close Hotch was now standing, she could feel the heat of his body against hers, Emily tried to take a breath to settle her racing heart.

"Um," she murmured, "I don't know. Clearly tonight is just an obscene waste of money, but I don't begrudge people spending a few bucks if they have it to spend, aka, aren't putting themselves or their parents into debt. And of course if they spend it on the right stuff, and not like fifty thousand dollars on flowers. Which," she rolled her eyes, "is actually what Caroline is spending in total on the floral bouquets, and decorations for the church and the function rooms. For myself," she continued, speaking to Hotch in the mirror, "and I haven't really thought about it much before, but I think maybe just a nice simple church service, with just a few flowers tied to the pews, and then maybe do the reception at my parents' house. Their backyard is really big and obviously well landscaped, so no cost for the venue and again, really wouldn't need to spend much else for flowers. Just rent a few awnings and some chairs, pay for a nice caterer and," she grinned at him over her shoulder, "a super awesome, all butter cream frosting, seven tier wedding cake, and we're good to go."

Hotch grinned.

"Seven tiers, huh?" He tipped his head, "that, that is a big cake."

"Yeah, well," she turned back around so he could fix the safety chain, "keep in mind that they really do make a BOATLOAD of kickass cake fillings now. So I think," she put her hand up, "given that I'm just planning on getting married the one time, that I need to fit in as many flavors as possible for this one huge event cake. And I'm not looking for fancy designs. I'm cool with just circles," she shrugged, "or squares. Whatever's easiest."

Feeling his lips twitching, Hotch nodded slowly.

"That is a sound argument for what would still likely be an eleven hundred dollar hunk of pastry. And," he hooked the last two pieces of her clasp together, "I think overall that sounds like a very nice gathering," his hands slipped over to her shoulders as he smiled at her reflection. "I hope I get an invitation."

"Yeah well," Emily gave him a shy smile back, "I think I can probably scrounge one up for you."

The plan actually was for him to be 'co-hosting' the event _with_ her, but that was a clarification she'd save for another day.

And for a moment they were both just standing there, and she saw him smiling down at her in the glass, but then his expression softened as his thumb stroked along her shoulder.

"You really do look amazing," he murmured.

And for JUST a second, her breath caught, because the way he was looking at her, she was positive that he was FINALLY going to kiss her! She was SO convinced actually, that she found herself turning around in his arms. But her action, seemed to break whatever little spell was settling over them. Because when she looked up at him again he blinked . . . and took a step back.

DAMN IT!

"We should get going," he said while turning around to pick up her faux fur wrap from the bed, "or we're going to be late."

And once more, he'd almost lost control and kissed her! Those near misses had been happening off and on for the last few years, but were coming with much more frequency the last few months. And he knew that he could only avoid the inevitable for so long.

The time was coming where he just needed to make up his mind about where he saw them going, and then just, well, kiss the woman already!

Because it wasn't that he didn't see them together in the future, he actually saw them together RIGHT now! Truly, though it had not been a point they'd ever actually 'discussed,' he considered himself very much taken. He was hers, and she was his, and they were happy. Like this today, helping her with her zipper and her jewelry, those were only things that he'd only ever done before for Haley.

Back when they were married.

Those activities showed an intimacy to their relationship, that he hadn't had with anyone since his wife. Yes, he knew that there were many more intimate activities he could be doing with Emily . . . and _to_ Emily . . . than simply touching her shoulders or brushing his fingers along her bare back, but those things were on another level. And though he was sensing more and more lately that she might be ready for them to move on to that other level, he wasn't quite there yet. There was work to consider. Both their chain of command, and just the general anti-fraternization policies of the Bureau.

He could lose everything if they moved too quickly.

So even though when he looked back down at her he could see Emily looking up at him with a faint confusion, and a small pout . . . one he so badly wanted to kiss away . . . he ignored the questions she wasn't voicing, to give her a soft smile instead.

"You ready to go?"

For a moment she continued to look up at him, and he knew those questions were right there on the tip of her tongue, but for whatever reason she seemed to understand, he wasn't ready to talk today. Because her eyes crinkled slightly as she reached out to pat his chest.

"Anywhere you lead," she responded with a wink. Then she turned, and after a split second pause . . . nobody could throw his composure like this woman . . . he slipped the soft fur over her shoulders. He waited a moment longer while she picked up her evening clutch and slipped her compact and lipstick inside.

They were just about to walk out of the bedroom, when Hotch took note of a point that seemed to have escaped Emily's attention.

She was about three inches two short.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, "Em?" And she turned to look up at him.

"Yeah?"

He jerked his head over to the bedcovers . . . her box of heels were lying on top.

"You might need those."

She looked over to the bed, down to her bare silver painted toes poking out from the front of her dress, and then back up to him.

"Oops."

"Yeah," he huffed, "oops." Then he walked over to pick up the box. When he turned back he pointed down to the other side of the bed.

"Sit."

So she sat, and feeling very much like Prince Charming with his glass slipper . . . though in this instance he was carrying _both_ slippers . . . he walked over, knelt down, and with one hand on her calf, he slipped on first her left heel.

And then her right.

When his gaze shifted back up to hers, she gave him a little smile.

"I think Prince Charming was supposed to be blonde."

He smirked.

"And I think Cinderella was supposed to have some birds helping her get dressed," he put his hand out and she clasped his fingers, "so I guess we can't be Prince Charming and Cinderella."

"No," she sighed as he pulled her up to her feet, "I guess not."

Though when she looked up at him in his tux, and that adorable little dimple that he flashed, basically just for her, she was thinking that folklore Prince Charming was ENTIRELY overrated. So when he squeezed her hand and ran his thumb over the three small topaz bands she was wearing on her left ring finger, she gave him a little smile. He winked back. And when he started leading her out of the bedroom, her eyes crinkled slightly.

_Oh yeah! Real Life Prince Charming was SO much better than Fake!_

* * *

_A/N : Curious, I just got really caught up in writing this story. I'd gotten the idea when I was looking over the Irish pub tale (the 'sequel') and read the line (I wrote) about them going to this wedding for her least favorite cousin. Suddenly the whole thing started spinning out in my head when it never had before. I think I've done that in maybe 3 worlds. I write stories where they get together, and then write the prequel like a year or three later. My brain is weird._

_If you'd like to see Emily's dress, faux fur, or diamond necklace, they all exist and the pictures are up with the story posting on my Tumblr. I've said before, I can never just describe outfits from the same imagination that comes up with the rest of the story, I always have to actually 'go shopping' to pull it all together. Again, brain is weird._

_I do like this version of them quite a bit. They're fun, but I don't feel like I'm writing Girl H/P. They live in their own world, so they were talking to me in totally different way. I'm just planning a two shot, and chapter two is about half done as well. Time at the wedding, time with Emily's parents AT the wedding, and home. But before I got sucked into this like two days ago, I'd spent last week bouncing around filling up my drafts folder so I do have other stuff lined up that people are actually looking for updates. So hopefully by the end of the weekend, we'll have another posting._

_Thanks!_


	2. Bride and Gloom

**Author's Note**: Picking up just after the ceremony.

* * *

**Bride and Gloom**

Emily stopped short at the top of the church steps.

"Ah boy," she murmured while reaching over to catch the front of Hotch's overcoat, "that looks really slippery."

The wedding ceremony had just ended, and they'd walked outside to find that it had started to snow again. There was now a fine layer of white crystals piling up on top of what had already been treacherously smooth marble steps on their way into the church. Emily's free hand clenched into a fist.

It was going to be a miracle if she didn't break her neck.

"Eh," Hotch's nose wrinkled, "yeah, probably. But," he slipped his arm around Emily's waist and walked them over to the left side of the staircase," you hold onto me, I'll hold onto the railing," he shot her a look, "we'll be fine."

Granted, walking in snow would be easier in proper winter boots than dress shoes, but he was still better off than Emily, and the rest of the women coming out the door behind them, who were all in heels. And most of them were wearing heels reaching a height of three or four inches off the ground.

Which were RIDICULOUSLY inappropriate for the weather conditions!

At least Emily's weren't stilettos.

So with her clutching his arm and his coat, both for dear life, he slowly walked them down the dozen steps leading up to the one Catholic Church in the city of Richmond that was big enough to hold the circus that was, cousin Caroline's wedding.

And make no mistake, it was a complete circus.

Caroline had actually decided to be 'late' for her own wedding. And at first, he'd had no clue why that was, except for the woman actually being even more narcissistic than Emily had led him to believe. Because the groom, and the groomsmen, were all lined up down in front right on time at five o'clock sharp. And then the flower girls (there were three) started down the aisle, then the ring bearer (just the one, who was actually adorable, he'd reminded him of Jack) and finally the procession of bridesmaids had begun.

There were FIFTEEN of them!

Seriously _FIFTEEN _women marching by in ENORMOUS pink, sparkling, _bell skirted_ ball gowns! It was like an invasion by the breast cancer awareness army! So by the time ALL those men and women, almost two dozen, were neatly lined up at the altar, it was about quarter past five. So the wedding march started . . . and then it started again.

And again.

On the FOURTH playing, that was when Caroline had _finally_ appeared at the back of the church. Admittedly, at that point, Emily had been reaching a state of euphoria at the thought of her cousin pulling a Runaway Bride and humiliating herself, and her mother, in front of not only all of their snooty society friends, but also EVERY mover and shaker in the upper echelons of business and government.

But then . . . Hotch pushed down an eye roll . . . just after Caroline finally appeared at the top of the aisle (with a classy snapping of her fingers at the organist to begin playing again), he saw the Secretary of State being very 'discreetly' seated in the back pew.

Which was just two rows back from where he and Emily were sitting.

And Hotch had realized then, right when Emily did, that they'd actually HELD the wedding, of which three _HUNDRED_ people were in attendance, to kiss up to _one_ extremely powerful member of the administration. One to whom the bride_groom_ was hoping to receive a recommendation from, when the next batch of offshore diplomatic appointments were announced.

It was, even by Washington standards, an _unbelievable_ display of pandering and toadery.

It was at that point, Hotch started to really understand just why Emily despised these people so much. That is, despised them beyond the _personal_, terrible things that Caroline had done to Emily over their teen years.

Which were admittedly quite awful by themselves.

There had been some serious bullying in high school. So bad in fact that when Emily began to cry telling him one of those stories, he'd actually, truly considered just shooting Caroline, dead. Because really, if anyone could effectively dispose of a body without leaving a trace of evidence or DNA, it would be him. But he'd decided to let that option slide for a bit.

At least until Emily would forget that she'd told him that terrible story.

And though part of him wanted to believe that killing Caroline was just a passing thought, mostly he knew that deep down, he'd meant it. Perhaps the fact that he did, said something to how he'd been affected by the monsters that he spent his days with. But given the depth of his affection for Emily, and the display he'd seen from Caroline just in the first one point five hours of this evening, he was starting to realize that he wouldn't even feel badly about doing it, even if he _did_ kill her. She was an odious person. Her behavior so far that night, the delay, well, that was just kind of the icing on the cake.

Emily would likely agree.

And as to her reaction to the delay, well, somehow she'd managed (somewhat heroically by his estimation) to keep it to a limited, stage whispered, "gross!" that he tried to cover with a sharp cough. One that resulted in the people directly to their right, and left, sliding over three inches in their respective directions.

Apparently they thought he was infectious.

Hmph . . . he huffed to himself as they reached the last step . . . if only he was. If so, he could be hacking up a lung for the first few hours of the reception, and maybe then they could go home early. But alas, as they stepped down onto the sidewalk, he knew that they were still in for at least four to five more hours of hell. Probably longer actually.

Because the bridal party wasn't even leaving yet!

That was kind of a shock to everyone. But when the ceremony was over, the bride's mother, the esteemed "Aunt Margaret," had stepped up and "borrowed" the priest's microphone (he looked slightly shocked when she took it out of his hand), to announce that everyone should go directly to the reception.

The bridal party was staying for pictures.

Pfft . . . he grunted to himself . . . and he was quite sure that activity was going to be a nightmare by itself. Really, thank God Emily hadn't been asked to be one of the bridesmaids, because Caroline seemed like the type to throw a camera if she wasn't happy with their poses. He shook his head.

Emily would have shot her.

No doubt.

And he was just about to ask the possible shooter in question, if she'd heard if there were any plans to do 'family pictures' later, i.e. ones that she'd be required to participate in, when his gaze shifted across the parking lot. His eyes widened.

Son of a bitch.

It seemed that since they'd arrived, eighty plus minutes earlier, the salt trucks had rolled through. Amazingly nobody thought to throw any of the salty stuff on the breakneck stairs. No, instead they'd just thrown it onto the _un_plowed, snow covered, asphalt of the parking lot. An action which had resulted in probably a solid _inch_ of brown slush now saturating essentially the entire area.

Unfuckingbelievable.

More unbelievable, given the two MILLION dollar budget, that nobody working with the family, or the wedding planner, thought that to perhaps hire a valet, or a service to take people from the church to the hotel!

Seriously, what the fuck was that?!

Granted, there were a hell of a lot of limos and livery cars in the lot, but because there had been no clearing of the sidewalks, and the lot itself was now a slurpee mud field, it didn't matter how rich you were, there was no clean path to get anywhere!

And when Hotch looked down at Emily in her ball gown, which was already getting damp just from the snowflakes, he knew that there was just no way in hell that he could let her traipse through that mixture of sand and dirty water, to get down to the car in the back of the lot.

There was really just one thing to do.

So after pulling his keys from his pocket, and handing them to her with a wink, he leaned down . . . and scooped her up off the ground.

She immediately started to chuckle as he pulled her to his chest.

"Asking you to bring me to this wedding," she laughed, while slipping her arm around his neck, "was the best decision I've made all year!"

Seriously! Picking her up so she wouldn't ruin her dress in the slush! Who in the twenty-first century still _did _that?! He was the sweetest, most CHIVALROUS man alive! And his actions as such, certainly were not going unnoticed by their fellow wedding guests. She could see the smiles and gestures as he started walking them down the sidewalk.

She did a wave over his shoulder.

"You've totally made us a topic of conversation," she whispered in his ear, "which is awesome, because now, even though they just walked out of the church, they aren't talking about Caroline's dress, or the ceremony," she pressed a kiss to his cheek, "they're talking about that sweet man who picked up his date so she wouldn't ruin her outfit."

Really, if she'd scripted the night, she couldn't have planned this part, ANY better!

"Hmph," Hotch grunted, "well, it's Caroline's own fault for not paying some kids five bucks an hour to keep the sidewalks and parking lot clear." He shook his head, "really, given that we've had snow showers all week, it was incredibly poor planning on their part."

"Yeah," Emily huffed back, "and this is _with_ them paying a wedding planner like thirty grand to make sure this whole thing came together without a hitch."

If it was anyone else, she'd say these people deserved their money back, (and she did kind of feel badly for Uncle Charles) but mostly she thought that this nice little cluster fuck in the parking lot . . . there were a WHOLE lot of unhappy people behind them . . . was something that they totally had coming to them.

"Oh," she patted Hotch's back as he stepped down onto the asphalt, "and here come the altar boys down the stairs with a bunch of shovels, aaaand," she winced, "ooh, they're just a minute too late because Mrs. Islington just landed flat on her butt in that big pile of slush."

"Eh," Hotch's nose wrinkled, "is she okay?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded as she turned back around, "she looks fine, angry, wet, and her dress, which I believe was a Vera Wang original, is ruined."

"Isn't she the wife of . . ."

"The head of the Senate Banking Committee," Emily cut in, "yes. And Darren's father is the CEO of a hedge fund, that is currently under the Senate Finance Committee's review for misappropriating the funds from the government pensions in two states." She smirked, "and I believe he's supposed to testify next week. Which is very unfortunate timing for that slip."

"Yes," Hotch looked up at Emily with a faint twitching of his lips, "yes it is. Now," he jerked his head towards the car parked under the farthest sodium lamp, "can you please hit the locks. Black Audi, dead ahead."

Though as a general rule, he wasn't really 'into' cars, or cared much what other people thought about what he drove, he was pleased for Emily's sake, that they didn't look like paupers showing up in some jalopy. His car was sleek and shiny and less than two years old. Basically he'd bought it because he made a fair amount of money, and he liked to drive fast (a byproduct of getting to drive fast for a living), and that slick little black car handled VERY well on hairpin turns.

So as they reached the end of the back part of the lot . . . given the time of their arrival, premium parking had been long gone . . . and he suddenly waded into the deepest part of the slush (the pavement was uneven), he saw the lights flash not far ahead. A second later the locks clicked. And with his shoes now squishing through some very cold ice . . . though fortunately it wasn't quite deep enough to reach the tops of his shoes, he could still feel the chill through the leather . . . he quickly moved to get Emily into the car.

Fortunately, with the space next to the passenger side being empty, it only took a small amount of maneuvering, and Emily actually pulling the door open, for him to stoop down and place her inside. As he went to straighten up, she reached out to pat his cheek with her cold hand.

"You _are_ the best."

He just winked. Then he slammed the door shut.

After he'd hurried around the front of the car to get to his own door, he dropped inside with a shiver. Fortunately Emily had already put the key in the ignition, so he quickly turned it before reaching over to flip on the heat.

"You know . . ."

Hearing the woman in question begin to speak, he turned to see her looking out the side window.

She was making a face.

"What do I know?" He asked, hoping to prompt her to finish the sentence she'd just started.

"I was just thinking," she murmured while turning back to him, "I didn't even think to look for my parents when we came out."

"Well," Hotch's brow wrinkled as he reached up to pull down his seat belt, "there were three hundred people in there, and you said they were supposed to be sitting somewhere down front so," he jiggled his head, "odds are they're still working their way out of the building. We were lucky we got there just before five, so we got to sit in the back."

That was a lucky break because Emily had uttered a few comments under her breath during the ceremony. The most memorable being, "your self-written poem is stupid, you dumb crotch rotted, skank."

Really, not your typical church stuff.

And definitely the types of comments that the other family members/VIPS in the crowd, would have picked up on if they'd been sitting any closer to the altar. As it was really, the guests in their area, were fairly spread out. And unless he was blanking on famous faces, the only person of 'note' in their vicinity, seemed to the Secretary of State.

And she hadn't seemed to have been paying Emily any attention.

Which was probably quite fortunate, because she and the Ambassador CLEARLY ran in the same circles. And in fact Emily said that the two of them usually caught lunch together every few months. So Emily likely would be getting an earful later if Hillary happened to mention to Emily's mother, what a guttermouth she had for a daughter.

And as he looked across the car, in the glow of the dashboard lights he could see said 'guttermouth' (though he adored her, she _really_ was) staring back at him.

"Good point," she nodded, "we'll catch up at the reception." Then she paused for a second, before a slow grin spread across her face.

"Were those not the most RIDICULOUS bridesmaid dresses you ever saw?! I mean, I know traditionally, bridesmaids' dresses are supposed to be bad, but they really looked insane! Those women were like size zero to two, and they _barely_ fit down the aisle!"

That was not an exaggeration, one of the girls had actually cleared the bouquet of flowers tied to the end of a back row pew. Then they were stomped on by the next seven women that had marched down the aisle behind her. The ground up stems and rose petals, had really left a beautiful stain on the snow white aisle runner.

For Emily, that was the highlight of the service.

And she could see from the flicker of amusement on Hotch's face when he turned to back them out, that he too was likely flashing on that moment.

"Yes, they were an unusual," he shifted the car back to drive, "pick."

Then he paused for a moment to let one of the limos pull out in front of them. In that second of quiet, he heard Emily's stomach growling.

"You hungry?" He asked rhetorically with a quick glance across the front seat. She nodded sheepishly.

"Yeah," her hand fell to her stomach, "starving. With that damn nap I ended up taking, I missed lunch."

A point that she'd been paying for dearly. The last half hour of the ceremony, she had to keep _clutching_ her stomach to keep it from growling! But she'd resigned herself to having to wait at least another half hour before they were able to get to the appetizers at the hotel.

Hmm . . . her brow popped up when Hotch reached over to tap the button on the glove compartment . . . what was this?

"Look in there," he said while straightening up, "I think there are some Jack snacks left over from our trip last fall to Busch Gardens. I had to keep him busy for two and a half hours each way." He shook his head slowly, "that was a _long_ day."

With all the kiddie rides at the amusement park, it was a good time for Jack. But yeah, definitely a LONG day for him.

Feeling her lips twitching, Emily reached over to pat Hotch's arm before turning her attention to what was in the glove box. With the glow of the small light within, she could see a couple of small snack bags tucked down.

"Ooh," she reached in to pull out the one on the bottom, "Potato Stix! I haven't had those in forever!"

She sat back and started tugging on the edges of the bag. "Good choice, dad."

"Yeah," Hotch huffed as they started driving forward, "Jack was pleased with that one too. I usually make him eat healthier snacks, but I thought he might be in a better mood if I loaded him up with fat and grease."

It worked with Emily on long stakeouts . . . though he wasn't about to say that to her . . . so he'd figured he'd give it a shot with his son too.

"And was he?" Emily asked while popping two of the greasy sticks into her mouth.

"Eh," he shrugged, "it's difficult to keep any five year old in a good mood if he's cooped up in the car for that long. Let's just say," he tipped his head slightly while hitting the directional to take them out of the parking lot, "he was as good as he could be."

Really, aside from an inordinate repetition of the phrase, "_are we there yet, daddy? Are we there yet, daddy? Are we there yet, daddy?_" it could have been worse.

For a moment Emily was quiet while she slowly chewed the bits of potato, then she said softly.

"If you want some company next time to help keep him busy, you know," she shrugged, "I do enjoy a good tea cup spin."

In all the years that she'd known Hotch, she'd only seen/met his son less than a half dozen times. Once was when Hotch was still with Haley, and she'd had to stop by the house to pick him up.

Haley and a baby Jack had waved from the door.

Since then there had been just three random encounters over the last two years. Two out of those run ins were just a couple minutes in the street if they happened to be the same part of DC. The last time though, that had been different. She'd run into them at the grocery store one Friday night last October. And with both her and Hotch having lengthy shopping lists, she'd end up staying with them for almost forty minutes.

Until they got out to the parking lot.

And that night she'd actually been able to talk to Jack (well, after he'd stopped hiding behind Hotch's leg, she'd been able to talk to him) and eventually she'd even had him giggling at silly knock knock jokes, and tugging on her fingers to get her attention. It was adorable.

_He_, was adorable.

And he looked just like his daddy, and really, he was just the sweetest little thing, and all she could think when she said goodbye to them in that parking lot, was _'God damn, I need to get me one of THOSE!'_ And by one of those, she meant of course, a Baby Hotchner. Because clearly, awesome, sweet, smart, funny little well behaved four year olds (how old Jack was at the time) didn't grow on trees.

They grew from good mommies and daddies.

And Hotch (from direct observation that night, and general knowledge of his fine character) was clearly a good daddy. So as she saw his jaw twisting slightly at her suggestion that she be allowed to spend a full day with his child, she started to feel just a tiny bit of anxiety. Because maybe he didn't think that was a good idea for her to see him again. Maybe he thought she would be a bad influence. Or maybe . . . another thought occurred . . . he just thought she was overstepping the bounds of their relationship.

Maybe his kid was off limits.

And she was just about to take it back, with an awkward, joking, "eh, whatever," which would probably make the rest of their evening VERY strained, when she saw him slowly begin to nod.

_Oh, thank God._

"Yeah," Hotch bit down on his lip, "yeah, that might be fun. I mean," he shrugged, "we wouldn't be going again until sometime in the Spring, but I'll let you know and maybe we can plan a day."

For a second he had hesitated in responding to Emily's suggestion, because he was thinking about what it would mean not only for him to schedule a 'date' with Emily, but also what it would mean to Jack. Though he had dated a few women since the divorce, they'd all been very casual, short term relationships. Mostly just a few dinners, and some sex. Maybe a couple more dinners.

That was it.

And certainly he'd had no intention of introducing his son to any woman unless he felt that woman was, A) going to have some semi-permanent to permanent relationship in his life, and B) would be a sound role model/good influence on his child. Of course he had no concerns about Emily in regards to B, she was one of the kindest, most thoughtful, intelligent people he'd ever known. But as it related to A, well, it seemed a bit of 'wagon before the horse' thinking, to allow Jack and Emily to bond, before he'd quite figured out where their relationship was going himself. But an outing some day later in the Spring (four to five months away), was kind of perfect. It would actually force him to figure things out and take the next step with her, before that day arrived.

Basically it just seemed like a good push to get them to where they needed to be.

And it also helped that when they stopped at the next red light, he could see Emily trying to hide her smile from him. His eyes crinkled.

Clearly his answer had pleased her.

And though he wanted to reach over and catch her fingers, or squeeze her knee . . . really just be able to have _any_ random, affectionate contact with her at all . . . he kept his hands steady on the steering wheel. They hadn't reached that spring day yet.

And there were still too many days in between.

So instead of reaching out, he changed the subject to having her confirm the directions to the hotel. Though he was not unfamiliar with Richmond (they had a field office and had coordinated cases with them from time to time) it was dark, and it had been at least eight months since his last visit.

It would be nice if he didn't get them lost.

Though after he heard Emily crinkling the invitation, and then scanning the little map on her iPhone, he did get his confirmation that they were going the right away. And when they stopped at the next light, he felt Emily tap his arm. When he turned to look at her . . . she popped the last of the potato sticks into his mouth. When his mouth closed and his lip quirked up, she gave him a sheepish shrug.

"I just realized that I was rude not to offer to share them earlier, so," she looked down to tuck the now empty bag into the trash, "there you go."

"Well," he started slowly chewing the potato bits, "thanks, but you weren't rude. I offered you a snack, you had no obligation to share it with me."

"Maybe," she sighed as her attention shifted back out to the lightly falling snow, "but I still should have. It's only polite. But I think I just got distracted thinking."

Seeing the light turn green, Hotch took his foot off the break before asking softly.

"Were you thinking about anything that you want to talk about?"

Given that their next stop was to actually have to physically _interact_,for MANY hours, with all of her relatives and every other God forsaken person who had been invited to this fiscally obscene gathering for two people that she despised, it was likely that was the topic that had her distracted. And sure enough, after another momentary pause, she did murmur something back. Unfortunately her voice was so quiet that he had to ask her to repeat it.

"I'm sorry," he shot her a quick look across the front seat, "what was that?"

"Just . . . eh," she shook her head, "nothing. Doesn't matter."

Feeling a pang of sympathy at both her tone, and her body language . . . whatever she'd just been thinking, she seemed miserable thinking about it again . . . that time when he felt the pull to reach out and touch her, he decided to give in. But that was only because this time the circumstances were different. It wasn't just him _wanting_ to do something, it was him _needing_ to do something.

He needed to make her feel better.

So after another quick glance across the row to see where her hand currently was in relation to his . . . just a few inches away . . . he reached out and caught her fingers. By her reaction . . . the quick turning of her head . . . he could tell that the action startled her. But of course he didn't usually do things like that. Actually _express_ his affection for her.

It was part of that line he was trying so hard not to cross.

But after only a momentary pause, he felt her tug his hand a little closer. And then he felt his skin brushing against the soft fabric of her dress.

She'd pulled his hand up to rest on her thigh.

"Thank you," she whispered as her thumb stroked across the back of his wrist. His eyes crinkled slightly.

"You're welcome," he murmured back.

They were quiet for the rest of the ride.

* * *

_A/N 2: If you'd like to see the enormous bridesmaids dresses, there's a pic with the Tumblr posting._

_Maybe two chapters left._

_Thanks!_


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